


Act of Faith

by deisegal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Infidelity, More book than show canon...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deisegal/pseuds/deisegal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different version of Stannis and Melisandre's first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Act of Faith

Looking back, he could almost marvel that an act so simple, so straightforward, had changed the course of his life. But of course at the time it had been anything but simple, anything but straightforward. 

*******

The parley with Renly had gone much as he had expected. He'd been foolish to think that his little brother would see sense. He was living out the games of his childhood, with scant thought for the treason he was committing, the lives he was toying with.

Melisandre's words echoed in his ears as he paced the tent, goblet of water in his hand. He had sent Devan to bring her to him and moments later she was at the tent flap. She turned to the young Seaworth and smiled at him, "Devan you may leave us."

Devan glanced over at Stannis anxiously. It was not up to Melisandre to dispense orders to his men.

"Devan you're dismissed for the evening. Get some rest. I shall need you to wake me at first light. But I don't want to be disturbed by anyone before that. And make sure to collect my chainmail from the armourer."

"Yes, your Grace". The sandy haired boy shuffled backwards and almost stumbled as he pulled the flap closed.

Melisandre was still smiling at him as he left and turned back to Stannis, "He is a fine boy, a credit to his father."

Stannis grunted. It irritated him to think of Davos at this point, knowing that he disapproved of the Lady Melisandre and her God, but he wouldn't talk about that now.

"I'll not have you giving out orders on my behalf."

"I apologise my King."

She was smiling at him so serenely he found he was irritated by that as well.

"But I had to assume you called me here to..."

"Yes I've made up my mind. We'll do it your way."

She tilted her head, "My way?"

"The union, the .." he waved his hand impatiently, "whatever that needs to be done."

"I'm glad you've changed your mind."

"Do I have much choice? Did you see the men he has behind him? The men that should be mine." He clenched and unclenched his fist at the thought of it.

"I saw them. But they'll be of little use to him come the dawn."

The dawn. She kept mentioning the dawn. She stepped forward until she was standing close to him and she placed her hand over his heart. 

“Do you trust me?” That was the last thing she’d asked him the last time they’d had this conversation and here she was staring at him with those unsettling red eyes. And he had to concede now that he did. Because she had done nothing to make him doubt her. And he had nothing left to cling to anymore. He simply nodded.

Her hand moved up from his chest to the side of his throat. He felt his breath catch at the heat radiating from her fingertips.

"My King, you shall be truly blessed by this union. I've seen it in the flames for weeks now, every night stronger and fiercer than the last. And you shall win this war.”

He still didn't understand why he needed to do this to accomplish that. But he also grew tired of listening to her exhortations, her florid talk of her God and the forces he controlled. He wanted an end to it, even if the beginning made him feel sick to his stomach. He squirmed further under her touch then berated himself. If he couldn't tolerate the touch of his hand on his neck, how could he...

She suddenly moved past him, taking his hand in hers, and led him to the bed. His heart sank into his boots. Going to the bed made it more real. He'd watched Devan straightening the furs earlier on as he sat at his writing desk, Melisandre's words from the last fortnight about "union of the flesh" flashing across his mind over and over again. Why his victory relied on writhing limbs and an exchange of bodily fluids was beyond him.

But so much of what she represented was beyond him. From the very first time had laid eyes on her, there was something about her beyond his knowing, beyond his touch. But yet the word “exotic” didn’t do justice to her, for though she had come from a distant land and first appeared to be so out of place in his court, it soon seemed like she had always been there, at least to him anyway. Dragonstone was a wretched place, but she somehow enhanced it with her presence. And when he returned from King’s Landing and recounted what had happened with Jon Arryn and the despicable Lannisters, it didn’t seem to faze her at all, as though the events were as natural as night following day. 

Now she was sliding gracefully onto the bed and sat up tall on her knees, drawing him closer.

"My King, let me make this more comfortable for you." She began to unlace his doublet.

"I don't need to take that off to do this?"

"You'll get quite hot though. It would be better."

"Only the doublet" he hissed.

"Very well." She pushed the doublet off his arms and then moved her attention to the laces on his breeches.

"And before you say anything, these need to be open."

The very curl of her mouth offended him. Mockery was unwelcome at the best of times; he certainly didn't appreciate it now.

"I know that. There is no need to belittle me."

"I apologise again my King. I just sense how uncomfortable you are."

"Making japes won't make it any less uncomfortable."

But now he _truly_ knew the meaning of the word uncomfortable, as her fingers grazed his cock and he felt it stiffen.

"Do no more than is necessary," he spat out through gritted teeth

She pulled back and looked at him, eyebrow arched and mouth quirked.

"You _are_ allowed to take pleasure from it. There is no shame in it."

"That's not what this is about". It hadn't been about that for him for as long as he could remember. He didn't have Robert's appetites. 

"I just want it done."  


You shouldn't fear flesh.....lying with another is as natural as breathing.

Her relentless chatter was starting to grate on him and he was about to chastise her. But the leaned back and released the tie on the side of her robe to reveal an endless expanse of creamy skin. He clenched his fists tightly at his side. She let the robe drop and threw it on the ground, then slid up the bed and stretched out.

He looked away, "You should cover yourself, I don't need to see all that."

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would change anything.

She was laughing. It sounded cruel to his ears. When he opened his eyes she was stretched out even further and even worse she was touching herself between her legs. Horrified, he lunged for her robe and went to cover her up. It was madness of him to ever think he'd be able to do this. Facing Renly on the battlefield might be folly, but at least it was a folly he understood. He made to throw the robe over her but she grabbed his wrist and pulled him down on top of her. She was surprisingly strong. She locked him in place with one of her legs and pulled his hand down. he robe fell from his fingers and onto the bed beside her.

"Touch that and tell me it is wrong, that it is sinful."

He knew he was gaping at her. He felt a surge run through his body as his fingers met the silky wetness between her legs. She moved his hand, held it in place for a moment and then released it. She ran the leg that was holding him in place along his side.

In truth she wasn't really holding him in place anymore. His entire body was taut and he doubted he’d be able to move, even if he tried.

She moaned softly and reached up and kissed him and for a moment the wetness at his fingers matched that on his tongue. Until he pulled back from both.

The look of disappointment on her face broke something in him then. It could all have been part of the act, part of the ritual, but his head was starting to feel foggy and he didn't quite care. He tugged at his breeches and pulled them down his thighs, then leaned across her, dragging the tip of his cock over her opening. She hissed and grinned and grabbed the back of his head.

"My King."

He felt his cock surge again under his fingers and with no more hesitation he pushed inside her. He kissed her too, hoping that would distract from the awkwardness he felt in his lower body. She brought both legs around him and drew him further inside her. This could work. All he needed was to spill his seed inside her. She squeezed around him and he shuddered. If she did that a few more times he'd definitely spill soon. But then she stopped and, framing his face in her hands, slowed the kiss down to become much deeper. It wasn't supposed to be like this. There wasn't meant to be tenderness. But he still found himself matching the pace of the kiss, and allowing his tongue to move around her mouth. And then he was rocking against her. It was awkward at first but he felt himself settling into a rhythm. He suddenly realised that his backside was hanging out of his breeches and it seemed ludicrous to him. He pulled out of her and she whimpered but when she saw him pushing his breeches down his legs and tugging at his boots, she understood and she tried to lift his shirt over his head.

"No." He'd lost most of his dignity but he'd keep some of his clothes.

She nodded and sat up watching him and when the breeches and boots were off he turned back to her. He didn't even have time to react as she clambered onto his lap, wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked him firmly. She slid down onto him and kissed him, dragging her nails through his scalp. He couldn’t allow this, couldn’t permit her to ride him like a beast. He grabbed her around her backside and in one smooth motion dropped her onto the bed. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt for the force with which he dropped her and was about to apologise when she pulled him down to her and inside her once more. He exhaled hard at the sensation as she brought her legs around his waist again, bucking her hips up to force him into a rhythm that was both excruciating and exhilarating. The kiss was anything but tender now. She seemed to have given up on any idea of reassurance and if he had not known better he would have thought she seemed somehow desperate. But how could she be desperate, when she held all the power. As if reading his thoughts, she squeezed her legs tighter around him, and he groaned at the jolt that went through his body. Then she stopped kissing him and buried her face in his neck. He momentarily faltered as he she ran her hand through his hair, not raking at his scalp this time, but stopping to make small circles at the base of his neck. That small touch. That was all he needed. 

Afterwards she lay there with her eyes closed and a smile plastered across her face. He didn’t flatter himself that he was the cause of that. Now he wondered how long she’d lie there for. Would she expect to stay the night? It had always been an unspoken agreement with Selyse that they never spend the night in the same bed, not since their wedding night. He needn’t have worried. She rubbed her stomach then sat up and retrieved her robe. He averted his eyes as she stood up and covered herself. It seemed quite ridiculous, after he’d been inside her just moments before. He reached down for his breeches but pulled the furs around him. He'd need to clean himself up before he dressed again and he certainly didn't want to do _that_ in front of her.

"What happens now?" 

She seemed engrossed in fastening the tie on her robe. A strange thing, as it was a mere strip of fabric. He repeated himself.

"I will now perform the Lord's work."

"Which is?"

She finally seemed content that the tie was knotted correctly and met his gaze coolly.

"How much do you really want to know?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"What I must do now. It is not clean. It is necessary. But most men would not understand the method."

"I'm not most men! You've been telling me as much long enough now haven't you?" Even if he found her talk mostly fanciful, he wanted to believe that at least _she_ believed what she said. In some ways he envied her apparently unshakable faith.

She moved towards the bed again. He pulled the furs higher around him. 

"No, you are the Prince that was Promised. Your destiny is almost within your grasp. But you just need to let me do what my Lord has allowed me to do to bring it even closer." She pulled the furs away with one hand and slid her other hand down his chest, then lower still until he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She smiled that infuriatingly serene smile once again.

"You have given me life, and life is power." He had no idea what she was talking about. But in that moment he thought she was going to kiss him and he wasn't quite sure how he'd react if she did. But as it was she pulled away and walked quickly to the tent flap. She lifted it and peered out.

"So dark. The night swallows everything." She looked back at him, "You know, if you did not trust in the Lord, there would be nothing but darkness."

"You've mentioned something about the night being dark and full of terrors alright."

She half smiled, "Try and sleep." And then she was gone.

He slumped back in the bed. Sleep found him easily that night. But it was just the start of the nightmare.


End file.
